


Unless Spoken To

by bryar6



Series: A Wizard's Beginnings [8]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Arthur and Merlin are stinky, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Sort Of, Timeskips, character backstory, zouxie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryar6/pseuds/bryar6
Summary: Douxie is forever being dragged along to events of the King's court, and apparently, executions are no exception.
Relationships: Archie & Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan, Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan/Zoe
Series: A Wizard's Beginnings [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941658
Comments: 29
Kudos: 45





	Unless Spoken To

**Author's Note:**

> Rated teen for a lil bit of description of a mental breakdown, a troll dying, mental illness + self-harm briefly touched on, nothing graphic. There's sorta a happy ending, kinda. Apologies that my tags are kinda a mess.

Douxie trails after Merlin at a respectful distance, feeling the rounded edges of the cobblestone under his worn-thin boots. Ahead, his master’s heavy armor clinks as he walks through the twisting streets of Camelot, holding that air of prestige and nobility. Douxie straightens up, trying to copy the posture. 

“And when we get there, you are not to speak unless spoken to, do you understand?” Merlin asks the apprentice, looking over his shoulder. The wizard’s brow sinks low over his eyes in sternness. 

“Yes, Master Merlin,” he replies meekly, directing his eyes away. Last time he’d interjected in conversation at a social event he’d received a sound cuff to the head. He wasn’t going to repeat that. He remains silent and tags at his master’s heels. His familiar bounds beside them, keeping close. 

“You do recall what we’re headed out for, correct?” 

“Yes, Master,” Douxie says, biting back an edge of annoyance. Of course he knew _what_ they were doing, the question, still unanswered, is _why_. They’re headed for the little tournament arena, where apparently a public execution is to be held. It’s customary that the king’s court attend many of these different events. All Douxie knows is that he’ll have to sit there and stare at his feet so he doesn’t get sick. 

“Good,” the wizard huffs. He opens a gate and walks into the stands of the little arena and finds a seat just to the side of Arthur and Lancelot. Morgana’s seat beside them remains empty. She often showed up late at these events, if she showed at all. Douxie plops himself onto the bench beside Merlin. 

Down in the dirt, several knights drag out two older men, probably around Merlin’s physical age, and a struggling, blanketed form that Douxie guesses is a troll. He watches four knights battle to keep the troll covered. He doesn’t know why they’re bothering; they’re going to kill the poor fellow anyways and the sunlight now might be mercy. The three are dragged onto the platform. 

“Loyal subjects,” Arthur begins, standing and addressing his small crowd. “Today will be the execution of two men and a troll. The troll was discovered in the cliffs near the castle, attempting to enter and cause gods know what kind of chaos. Galahead and his knights incapacitated it, and because it took the life of one of our good knights, it’s life shall be taken in turn.” Arthur pauses to let the townspeople jeer and shout obscenities. 

Douxie already feels his stomach turning, as he knows this troll never took anyone’s lives. It’s just an excuse for Arthur to be entertained. The apprentice flicks his eyes away and sees Morgana stalking into the stadium. He feels a bit of relief. Morgana had to be the only one here with nearly so much sympathy as himself. Merlin was just as cold and more indifferent than the king. The witch comes to sit next to Douxie, staying perfectly silent. Douxie opens his mouth to greet her but Merlin is quicker and slaps his hand, growling a warning. Archie, in his wizard’s lap, fluffs up in defense but says nothing, choosing instead to glare hard. 

“And these two men were found to be smuggling weapons through Camelot and to our enemies,” the king sneers, jabbing a finger at them. “They came from Stawford and would not release to whom they were traveling, and so they receive a merciful execution at my command, by axe.”

Stawford sounds...oddly familiar to Douxie. Granted, he’s spent a few decades in Camelot with Merlin, and he never really paid attention to any sorts of political lessons given to him. But something about the name of that town rings a bell in his mind and an uneasy interest grows. He peers down at the men, whose heads are dropped to their chests by the weight of heavy chains. 

“We will start with the troll. Remove the sheet,” Arthur demands, a nasty smile on his face. Douxie shuts his eyes and clamps his hands over his ears in anticipation of the sound. Beside him, Morgana places a gentle hand on his arm. Even under his hands, Douxie can hear the agonized scream as the poor creature is engulfed in sunlight. The scream stops short and he drops his arms, feeling so terribly cold all of a sudden. _This shouldn’t be happening._

“And now for the men.” Lancelot directs the executioner onto the platform. The man is tall, dressed in black and hooded, a long axe resting against his shoulder. Douxie shivers. “They may speak any last words that they so wish.” 

Neither of the men say anything, to which Arthur laughs. “Go on. The gods above may have more mercy on you if you confess to your crimes.” 

“What is there to confess to? You’ll accuse us anyway without hearing,” snarls the smaller man. Beside him, the gruffer one jumps forward against the chains. A large burn scar trails over the man’s arm and under his sleeve. 

“You’ve taken everything from us! You’ve left us to starve and to fall at the feet of anyone who offers us crumbs! What were we supposed to do?” 

Douxie goes stiff as an iron. He feels an icy fear spreading in his veins at the sound of the man’s voice. _I know that voice. But where from? Maybe I’ve just heard it in passing...No, no it’s too familiar._

“I’m showing you mercy, old beggar. I could have you hung or torn. But instead, I grant you a painless death. Do not make me regret it,” Arthur says through clenched teeth. “I’ll give you another chance, in case you’ve reconsidered.” 

“I have nothing worthwhile to say to the likes of you,” the man says, voice growing deep and angry. Arthur guffaws. 

_Oh. Oh, no no no no. It can’t be._

Douxie launches himself from the stone bench, knocking Archie from his lap, ears ringing and heart pounding so hard in his chest that it’s probably causing his small frame to shake severely. 

“Stop!” he screams, catching the attention of everyone in the arena as his voice rings out. There is an immediate silence thickening in the air. Everyone sits still as though frozen for a moment, before a collective gasp is let out. 

He glances around at the confused faces, wondering for a very brief moment if it was his magic that did that or simply the shock. _It doesn’t matter; I must stop this._

“Sit down, Hisirdoux!” Merlin growls. “Arthur, my apologies-” 

“No! Stop it! Stop,” Douxie practically screeches, leaping down the benches and shoving past other commonfolk to get to the wall at the edge of the arena. Archie follows him, ears pinned flat to his head. “You don’t understand!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Arthur asks, eyes burning into Douxie. But the apprentice doesn’t hear him, the rush of blood in his ears drowning everything out. 

Douxie leans as far over the little wall as he dares, making direct eye contact with the larger and gruffer man, looking at his face intently. The man stares him down, eyes hard and sunken, skin wrinkled and burned and scarred, a long broken nose on a long narrow face, matted dark hair hanging from his head. Douxie looks back, chest heaving. The whole arena falls silent. Whether they’re listening to his ragged breath or his heartbeat, Douxie can’t tell. Maybe both. It’s almost deafening to his own ears. 

“Father?” he breathes, just barely loud enough for his unsteady voice to travel. 

A shocked gasp comes from the spectators at the notion of a delicious tragedy occurring right before their eyes. Behind him, the clanking of armor can be heard. The shackled man tenses and staggers backwards, the heavy chains ringing out as he moves. 

“No…” He looks up to Merlin, and to Morgana, and then back at the apprentice, shaking his head vehemently, shame shadowing his face. His eyes shine hazel in the late afternoon light. “No. It’s not you. It can’t be. I have no more sons.” 

“It’s me, it’s Hisirdoux…” Douxie reaches a hand out, as if he can’t believe his eyes and would touch the man to confirm it’s not some awful illusion or trick of his mind. His fingers shake hard in front of him and no amount of locking his joints will still it. “I’m your son.” 

The man is stone-faced, silent, and expressionless. Tears trickle down Douxie’s cheeks, dampening his collar uncomfortably. Everyone in attendance is silent awaiting the man’s words. 

“You’re no son of mine. You never were. A wretched, bastard child, magic user. Devil spawn,” the man hisses and spits. Douxie flinches back at this, clutching his arms and drawing in on himself. He suddenly feels overwhelmed and short of breath, willing himself to keep as still as possible as though to avoid a lashing. The whole world suddenly feels too bright, too close, too everything, and he sinks to his knees, putting his head against the cold stone. 

“Please,” Douxie sobs, his whole frame quivering and trembling. He looks up, sucking in as deep of a breath he can manage. “I’m your son. You know who I am. And look, look where I am now. Doesn’t it matter?” 

“If it’s you, Hisirdoux, and this isn’t some cruel joke,” the old man wheezes, “I want you to know I watched each of your siblings die, watched your mother fall at the hands of a troll, witnessed our home and fields burned. All for petty gain. I hope you’re enjoying your life as the wizard’s puppet. Because while you were here, spoiled, we suffered because of you.” 

Douxie shakes his head, feeling a growing hollowness in his chest. “No, no...I would have come back, father...I’m so sorry, I should have been there...please forgive me.” 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, boy. I don’t care for you anymore. I just want this over with. No more cruel games, Arthur!” he spits, yanking towards the king’s little balcony. “End it already.” 

Arthur eyes Douxie warily, but shrugs, a sharp smile settling on his face. “Executioner, do as the man says!” 

“Wait! No! You have to stop, you can’t do this!” Douxie pulls himself up, trying to scramble over the wall, but he’s held fast by a soft hand. He whips around, eye to eye with Morgana. She gives him a somber look, no words to be said. 

Douxie turns again at the sound of the executioner stepping up and shoving his father’s head against the block with extra force. The old man gasps out and Douxie yanks hard again, but Morgana’s grip is impossibly strong. Archie presses into Douxie’s legs and looks up at him with a sorrowful gaze. 

“Goodbye, Hisirdoux.” His father closes his eyes and casts his head down. 

“Please, stop! Don’t do this!” But Douxie’s pleas fall on deaf ears. 

He watches in paralyzed horror as the long axe is raised high above and behind the executioner’s shoulder. It gleams in the light, reflecting beams off it’s surface and becoming almost blinding to look at. The metal is of complex design and artistically carved, a beautiful thing in it’s own right. It swoops in a graceful arc, like the movement of a hawk’s wing, a soft, almost musical sound as it cuts through the air. The axe is swift, the sound quick, and everything over quicker.

“ _NO!_ ” 

Douxie’s scream pierces the afternoon air and a pulse of powerful, blue magic unfurls from his shaking form, staggering the audience and knocking aside empty crates, sending banners flapping wildly and birds taking off in the trees. Shouts and shocked talk immediately comes from those in attendance and Arthur tries to calm the situation. 

“Merlin! Control the boy,” he orders, waving his sword in Douxie’s direction. 

“Enough, Arthur! The poor boy is hurt! You’ve just killed his father, what would you expect?” Morgana’s shoulders heave and she stares her brother down. Douxie watches from where he lies on his side on the chill stone, staring up at the siblings and his master. Arthur puts his sword back over his shoulder and looks to Merlin. Understanding flashes across Morgana’s face. “Oh, no. You didn’t.” 

“Morgana, what is this nonsense?” Merlin speaks up, picking his way down the bench rows and to his apprentice. Archie hisses, tail whipping back and forth. 

“Our king,” she sneers, a soft glow of magic gathering in her palm, “knew exactly who this man was. You’re despicable, Arthur.” 

Arthur is taken aback. “What? Don’t accuse me of such things, witch.” But his face shows very little remorse. “And even if I had, the boy must prove his loyalty one way or another.” 

The three stare at each other for a long moment, the noise of the departing crowd dying down and Douxie’s sniffling all that can be heard. The wordlessness speaks volumes of the moment and what had just happened. 

“We’ll finish this another day,” Arthur says to the executioner, who bows and exits the platform. The knights drag the smaller man away. The king brushes past some curtains and exits the balcony, out of sight. 

Laying on the ground, still wracked with shuddering sobs, Douxie is unmoving, clenching his fists to his chest, gripping his scarred hand tightly. He’s numb to everything around him as Merlin and Morgana bring him back to the castle, the latter holding his hand tightly and wiping at his tears. The sunset is bathed in shades of blood, casting a red glow on Camelot before succumbing to the night. 

**************************

Douxie does not eat that night, nor the following few days, no matter Archie and Merlin’s prodding. And on the fourth day, when he finally attempts to, he is horribly sick and returns to his quarters and does not emerge for another day. Eventually, he is nearly starved and slowly manages to eat again with the help of the kind kitchen servants.

Two weeks pass before he speaks to anyone for the first time since the execution, his voice cracking from lack of use, his skin pale and his face gaunt and his frame even skinnier. Archie can only feel whispers of Douxie’s once fiery soul.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Archie, still curled under a few heavy blankets. His familiar purrs and presses his head into his wizard’s chest and squeezes into his arms. 

“Douxie, you have nothing to be sorry for. Now, you just rest and recover. I’m right here for you,” the shapeshifter reassures. Douxie holds him closer. 

***********************

He stays in his quarters for weeks. Archie notices the scars once his familiar finally begins to drag himself from bed and clean himself. 

Some are fresh, while others are older, already paling. They’re neat, collected on his wrists where they fit well under his bracer and bracelets and high on his legs, where they are quite invisible to most. 

“Douxie, please, tell me the truth. Have you been doing this?” 

“...yes.” Douxie pulls his familiar into his lap and cries into his fur for a long time. When he finally emerges, Archie promises to keep it between them unless he continues. 

They go out and get a healing salve from Zoe that afternoon. She brings him to the well and shows him how to apply it, taking his arm and gently rubbing it into his skin while he watches. She asks him if he’d like to talk. He does. He breaks down crying in her arms for the first time and tells her everything left unsaid.

As his tears soak her shoulder, she resolves to protect him and stand by his side so long as she lives. 

***********************

Douxie rarely speaks unless spoken to for months. 

Merlin can barely get a full sentence out of the boy, only simple ‘yes’ and ‘no’ responses when asked any questions. Morgana can’t even tempt him to sing along with what he plays on the lute. He stays quietly reflective. Archie seems to be the only one he talks to daily. Neither of them speak of it, but he does talk to Zoe in moments snatched by the well behind the apothecary shop. From what the familiar says to everyone else, Douxie has already faced enough trauma for a lifetime.

Arthur is pained by this silence. He doesn’t understand just what he’s caused, but he knows it’s turned his closest friend and sister against him. He makes no attempt to rectify things with the apprentice, instead drinking with Galahead more frequently. 

***********************

It’s nearly a year before he laughs again. 

“And so Merlin was standing there, his eyebrows completely singed off, absolutely baffled,” Archie says. And Douxie breaks out into beautiful, gentle laughter. His laughter is true, light as the heavens, and happy. Archie could have cried in joy. 

His Douxie is finally back, or maybe mostly. He still flinches at the sight of Arthur, cowers away from anyone wielding a weapon, and cries silently many nights. But Archie can finally feel his familiar’s soul again, even if it’s not so bold as it once was. 

**************************

But he’s never truly over it. 

Douxie wakes up in his small apartment with a scream, startling his companions. Zoe wakes immediately and pulls him into her arms, running her fingers through his hair. His eyes are wild with fear and pain and she can feel his panicked heartbeat in his chest. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” She murmurs reassuring things to him until he’s breathing steady again. Archie presses against his familiar’s feet and Nari joins them all, wordlessly slipping into the bed with them. Slowly, he falls asleep again, tangled in Zoe’s arms and warmed by Nari and Archie. 

His soul is still fiery, somewhere buried deep inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was supposed to be posted in a couple days but in light of putting off my uni work until the last possible minute, and that I posed the question of publishing this tonight to my tumblr folks, here it is. 
> 
> So now that I can reveal it to you, I originally was planning to have Douxie accidentally kill his father with his first magic use, but it just didn't feel quite right, and so after writing _Fundamental Experiences_ I decided to eventually write a scene where he sees his father again, and for the last time, but I really didn't know what I wanted it to be until a week ago and I went "OH. OH NO," immediately had to write it. There was an alternate version of this where he's forced to kill his father but I could never figure out how to make it work, so now you have the most realistic and still very painful version of this fic. To make up for this...there really isn't much in the way of fluff in the plans right now, I won't lie, so settle in and buckle up, lol.


End file.
